


We're Much More Exciting than the Chantry

by 0Rocky41_7



Series: The Prince's Knight [2]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Hawke (Dragon Age), Blue Hawke (Dragon Age), Dragon Age II Quest - All That Remains, Gen, Post-Dragon Age II Quest - All That Remains, Pre-Relationship, Warrior Hawke (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 18:04:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21019985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0Rocky41_7/pseuds/0Rocky41_7
Summary: Sebastian settles into his new group of friends.





	We're Much More Exciting than the Chantry

**Author's Note:**

> More Sebastian and co. ramblings from me. That particular line of his dialogue made me laugh so I had to include it.
> 
> See more about Felicity on her [tumblr tag.](https://imakemywings.tumblr.com/tagged/felicity%20hawke)

“Is Isabela arguing with that man at the bar?” Sebastian asked, leaning over the table.

“Isabela’s always arguing with someone at the bar,” Varric said. “He probably tried to hit on her and she shut him down.” He cast only a passing glance in Isabela’s direction, before returning to the discussion he had been having with Merrill about her fantastic ability to get lost wandering alone at night through Lowtown.

Hawke gave a brief look too, and Merrill implored her to go put a stop to it.

“I would hate to see Isabela get her nose broken or something,” she said. “Go rescue her, won’t you Hawke?” Unable to resist the compulsion of Merrill’s big elven eyes and soft voice, Hawke heaved herself off the bench and went to intervene.

“Hey,” she said to the man, placing a hand on the bar between him and Isabela. “Why don’t you leave my friend alone and we all go back to enjoying our drinks, huh?”

“Who’s this big cunt?” the man growled, turning his attention from the feisty pirate to the towering Ferelden. “Mind your own goddamn business, doglord. This bitch owes me money.” Hawke took a breath and paused before responding.

“I’m trying to do you a favor, believe me,” she said. “I’ll buy you a drink. Let Isabela go, I’m sure whatever it was isn’t that important.”

“Fuck off, this is the last time I get screwed by you, Isabela.” The man jabbed a finger at Isabela and she scowled.

“Why don’t we settle this with a duel?” she challenged. “Fight me for it, Oliver. I don’t owe you shit and I’m not paying you, but if you can beat me, I’ll hand over the money.”

“_Or_ we could just let it go,” Hawke said. “Isabela, buy the man a drink and let’s go.”

“Why should I?” Isabela asked at the same time Oliver reached for a his knife. Hawke saw the movement with just enough time to grab him by the back of the head and slam his face down against the bar. Any chance of de-escalation was promptly lost. A friend of Oliver’s lunged out of his chair and Varric whipped out Bianca to pin the friend to the wall with a bolt. Another man—affiliated with Oliver or simply looking to get in on the fight—charged at Sebastian and Isabela shouted. The prince—on his feet from the moment Hawke went after Oliver—side-stepped and gave the man a good shove, flinging him over the table and into the floor. He scrambled upwards in time for Merrill to bludgeon him several times with her staff.

Oliver was staggering to his feet unbeknownst to Hawke, until Isabela decked him. It wasn’t enough to send him to the floor again, and he swiped at Hawke with his dagger. The point grazed her cheek but she blocked him from the worst of the damage. She made the mistake of glancing over at Sebastian and Merrill, and Oliver kicked the back of her knee, dropping her to the floor. Isabela stomped hard on his toes, then caught him in his already bar-smashed face with her elbow, making him howl as he backed away from them.

“Fuck you, bitch! And your Ferelden dog-fucking friends!” Wisely, Oliver departed, leaving his one friend pinned to the wall and another man out cold on the floor.

The movement in the Hanged Man stopped as everyone surveyed the damage. Into the silence, Sebastian blurted out:

“This is _much_ more exciting than the Chantry!” Every eye was on him at once, making him regret his impulsive tongue, and then Hawke burst out laughing as she got to her feet. Snickers passed around the room, but Hawke went on laughing until she had to grab the bar for support.

“Okay, it wasn’t _that_ funny, Hawke,” Varric said.

“It is more exciting than the Chantry!” Hawke wheezed.

“I’m starting to think your sense of humor could really use some improvement.” Hawke and Isabela collected their drinks and returned to the table, and at the same time Sebastian turned a concerned gaze on Hawke, Merrill said:

“You’re bleeding, Hawke!”

“Hm?” Hawke touched her face where a thin line of blood marked the arc of Oliver’s knife. “You want this for something?” She held her blood-speckled fingertip out to Merrill. Sebastian looked somewhat affronted, Merrill consternated, as if she were about to explain that Hawke’s paltry amount of blood wasn’t good for anything, and Varric laughed.

“See, now that’s better!”

“That was fun,” Isabela said, throwing back a draught of beer.

“Did you owe him money?” Merrill asked.

“Oh yes,” Isabela said.

“So you just attacked him for nothing?” Sebastian turned a disapproving look on Hawke.

“Not for nothing! He called her a cunt,” Isabela said. “Besides, he was reaching for his knife, I saw it.”

“I tried to talk him down.” Hawke shrugged and lifted her pint.

“Thanks for having my back.” Isabela smirked and nudged Hawke’s foot under the table. “I can always count on you to scare the shit out of thugs, huh?” A touch of heat tinged Hawke’s cheeks and she kept her attention on her drink.

“Giants tend to do that to people,” Varric said. Hawke made a face at him.

“Every human is a giant to you, Varric,” Isabela said, reaching up to the head of the table for the cold dish of fries they had bought with the first round of drinks.

“I think we should congratulate Sebastian on doing so well in his first bar fight,” Hawke said.

“Oh, it wasn’t my first,” Sebastian said. Almost immediately he appeared regretful, but by then, the group had all turned to look at him.

“Did…did the Chantry have bar fights?” Merrill asked tentatively, her thin brow furrowed as she tried to square this with her already limited information on the inner workings of the Chantry.

“No, it was…” Sebastian rubbed the back of his neck. “Before I joined the Chantry, I caused rather a lot of trouble back in Starkhaven, for my parents. That’s…part of what landed me here.”

“Oh, he was a wild boy, hm?” Isabela grinned and leaned her elbows on the table. “You’ve _got_ to tell us more about that!”

“It’s all history,” Sebastian said. “I’m not that person anymore.” Isabela groaned.

“Come on, you’ve finally told us something interesting,” she balked.

“I’m with Rivani, I want to hear what gets a Starkhaven prince exiled to a life of singing hymns and collecting chantry donations,” Varric said. Sebastian shrugged and looked aside, his cheeks flushing slightly.

“All the standard things you would expect from a hedonistic young prince, I suppose,” he said. “Drinking, gambling, fighting, sleeping around…”

“You?” Varric deadpanned, staring at Sebastian.

“Are you telling a joke?” Merrill asked.

“_You?_” Varric repeated. “You caused so many problems mom and dad decided you needed to take chantry vows?”

“They were worried I would father a bastard that would put the throne in contention,” Sebastian admitted with another shrug.

“I…will admit I did not see that coming,” Hawke said, her drink forgotten.

“Are they Tranquilizing people at the Chantry now?” Isabela asked. Sebastian shook his head, avoiding Hawke’s astounded gaze.

“Of course not! I was young and irresponsible then. Eventually I saw how unfulfilling that kind of life was,” he said. “I found peace in the Chantry. I resisted at first, but that’s to be expected. It was a very different life than I was used to.”

“I’ll say,” Varric said. “Damn, why couldn’t we have met you back then?”

“Varric!” Hawke cast a reproachful look at him.

“I’m just saying he would have fit in better at the Hanged Man then,” Varric said.

“Mmm, I agree,” Isabela said, flicking her eyes up and down the disgraced prince.

“I think you’re just fine now,” Merrill said. “And so does Hawke!” Sebastian still did not directly at her.

“Thank you, Merrill,” he said.

When they were done drinking, they walked Merrill back to her home in the alienage, and then left Isabela and Varric at the Hanged Man. Sebastian and Hawke walked back to Hightown together, as was standard. No one wanted to be walking around Kirkwall at night solo, if it could be avoided by any stretch of effort.

“I…hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable before,” he said when Hawke did not break the silence. “I left that life behind a long time ago.”

“It’s your life,” she said. “And you know our friends. So you were a bit more like Isabela before, what’s wrong with that?” She cast a crooked little smile at him.

“It was hardly a virtuous way to live,” he said. “I don’t approve of it in Isabela anymore than I do for myself. I just don’t think it’s healthy. It’s empty, at the end of the day.”

“But you changed,” Hawke said. “Found a path in the Chantry.”

“Someday I hope Isabela finds a path too,” Sebastian said.

“That will be up to Isabela.” Hawke let silence settle for a few more moments and then added, “If you think I plan to kick you out now, you haven’t been paying much attention to the rest of us.”

“No, I just…wouldn’t want you to think less of me for it, although I would understand if you did.” Hawke shook her head and flung an arm around Sebastian’s shoulder, pulling him roughly in with a grin.

“You’re going to have to try a lot harder than that to make me think less of you, Sebastian,” she said. “Remember I’m friends with a blood mage.” She let go of him.

“I always forget that about Merrill,” he said, shaking his head. “She seems so…innocent.”

“Doesn’t she? I have to remind myself I don’t need to go running to help her in a fight. She can handle herself,” Hawke said. “Still, Isabela nicknamed her well—she’s like a little kitten. You just want to protect her from everything.”

“Have you ever talked to her about—”

“No,” Hawke interrupted. “Merrill’s choices are Merrill’s choices. From what I’ve seen, she knows what she’s doing. I’m not her Keeper or her mother, I’m not here to tell her what she can and can’t do.”

“Not _can’t_, but _shouldn’t_, perhaps…” Hawke shook her head.

“Until Merrill proves she’s a danger, I’m not going to try to stop her from trying to recover a piece of her heritage,” she said, leaving no further room for that conversation to continue. “It can’t be my job to be involved in everyone’s business.” Sebastian let it drop for the time being.

***

Rainfall kept them on the Wounded Coast. By the time they had finished hunting through the caverns for the missing shipment, a squall had broken over the coast and night had collapsed over the coast. Rain lashed the sand and the swollen clouds overhead cracked angrily over the sea. Varric, not keen to walk all the way back to the city in such circumstances, suggest they wait it out.

It couldn’t rain that much for long! That thought lasted them until after the second hour. By then, the sky was full of stars, and everyone was tired (and more than a little cranky, certain parties more than others). Hawke trekked back into the warrens to scavenge some kindling material so that Anders could make a fire. In less than another hour, all five of them were asleep, lulled by the warmth of the fire. Fenris was snoring beside Varric, who sat with his arms folded and Bianca by his side. Hawke had fallen asleep first slumped against Sebastian, then, pushed (gently) off, had gone the other way to lean on Anders, who was far from protesting.

It was a foolish mistake on all their parts, and when Hawke came to several hours later, she recognized it. Falling asleep outside the city walls, with a fire burning and no one on watch! How could they be so careless? She straightened, careful not to disturb Anders, peaceful only in his sleep. Her back and her left side protested the awkward position she had been sleeping in. Fenris was curled up on his side in front of the dying embers of the fire, his tattoos illuminated by the light that beamed across the clear night sky. Outside the mouth of the cave, the light reflected too off Sebastian’s admittedly shiny armor.

Hawke tried to move carefully, but her bulk made that difficult, particularly in the confines of the cave. She put her heel in the fire pit, was almost sure she woke Anders, or at least disturbed his sleep, and almost tripped over Bianca before she managed to get out and make her way over to Sebastian, sitting in the sand outside the cave.

“Hey,” she said softly, sitting down beside him.

“Hawke. I thought someone should keep watch,” he said.

“That was prudent of you. I can’t believe we fell asleep without a guard. How long have you been out here?”

“A while. It’s fine, I couldn’t sleep anyway,” he said. Hawke looked up at the sky, midnight blue and sparkling with stars away from the smog and firelight of the city.

“Are you hurt? Anders can have a look.”

“No, I just…do you have those moments when your mind won’t be quiet?” he asked.

“Of course. All the time. I think everyone has those,” replied Hawke, drawing her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. “Is there anything you want to talk about?” Sebastian considered, looking down at his hands, resting in his lap.

“Do you ever feel…when you think of your brother…do you ever feel that it should have been you, instead?” Hawke did not respond, realizing this was going to take considerably more thought than she had planned on. Her mind was still foggy from the long nap, and she tried to put her thoughts in order to answer.

“Not…quite,” she said at last. “I feel…well, Mother blames me for it. I’m sorry, I probably shouldn’t have said that, it’s very personal. ‘How could you let him run off like that?’ she said. There were times when I thought…yes, I suppose there were times I thought it should have been. He was my little brother, you know.” She looked over at Sebastian. “I took care of him his whole life, even if he resented it. I always tried to look out for him and Bethany. I wasn’t a perfect sister, not by a long mile, but I did my best. Watching him die, I…” She looked away and shook her head. “It was my responsibility to keep him safe, and I failed. That will always be on me.” A sigh blew past her lips. “Carver…he fought with me over every little thing, and what I wouldn’t give to have him whining and cursing at me again.”

Sebastian was staring at the ground again, and Hawke did not comment on the tremor in his breath, or how long it took him to steady himself to respond.

“My brother was trained from birth to be the prince of Starkhaven,” he said. “He was educated from day one to be a ruler. He knew it, and so did everyone else around him. And it didn’t bother him. He was comfortable in the role, he was prepared to lead the city. I haven’t set foot in Starkhaven in fifteen years, Hawke. Who am I, to those people? While my brother learned statecraft, I was studying theology. When the Harimanns killed him, they took more than my family. They took Starkhaven’s future. Even if I do get the throne back, no one ever thought I would have it. No one bothered to train me to rule. If one of the three of us had to live…why wasn’t it one of the ones who knew what to do with the crown?”

Hawke hugged her legs, and scoured her mind for the right thing to say. Sebastian seemed to find it so easy, to offer refuge in flowery words and passionate claims of the Maker’s grace, but these things did not come to Hawke.

“Don’t they say the Maker has a plan?” she said. Sebastian shot her a look equal parts chagrined and annoyed.

“I would like to think that plan did not have to include the deaths of my entire family,” he said. “But…yes, they do say that. I wish I knew what the plan was.” In the distance, they listened to the sound of the surf colliding with the rocky coast, calmed since the passing of the squall, but never silent. A bug fluttered by Hawke’s face, and she waved it away. “I should have been with them,” Sebastian said softly. “If they hadn’t sent me away, I would have been with them.”

“You couldn’t have saved them,” Hawke said immediately.

“I could have died with them. I’m a Vael too.”

“Is that what you want?” she asked. Sebastian did not meet her stare.

“I don’t know. No. But it feels like I should have.”

“Because they’re your family, and you care for them,” Hawke suggested. “When Bethany joined the Grey Wardens, I thought…it should have been me. It was my idea to go into the Deep Roads. I should have left her at home, forbidden her from coming. I should have made her stay with Mother. If anyone was to pay the price for our risks, it should have been me. But it wasn’t. And I can’t change that. Sometimes things just happen, and there is no reason why, and we just have to deal with it as it is. I would take the burden from her because I love her, but I can’t, so I need to put myself to something more useful.”

Sebastian sighed. “I don’t know if that’s helpful or not,” he said. While Hawke again struggled with a reply, he went on. “It doesn’t feel as bad as it used to, but knowing the Harimanns are alive and responsible…it brings the pain back. You’re right—I can’t change what happened. I can only seek justice for it. That will have to be enough.”

“We’ll get them,” Hawke promised. “And we’ll get answers for you.”

“Thank you, Hawke.” He turned his gaze to hers. “It’s a selfless thing you do for me, but I will see you rewarded for it.”

“Not at all,” she said. “What else would I do with my free time but help my friends solve their problems?” She offered a tentative little smile, but sobered again quickly. “I can’t help with what’s been done already. But we can hold those responsible accountable. I hope that helps.”

“_Ow!_ What the _hell_ is your problem?”

“I’m _not_ your pillow!”

Shouting from Anders and Fenris alerted them that it was time to move on, and Hawke got to her feet to go separate the two. Sebastian cast one more look at the stars winking up in the sky, and wondered what his parents would say to his being the only surviving heir of theirs. Sometimes, the Maker did have a sense of humor.

***

“Nearly a _month_,” Isabela complained, dropping down into the seat across from Sebastian. “Maker!” She looked at Varric. “I don’t know how Hawke does it. How _any_ of you do!”

“What are you talking about?” Sebastian asked. Varric had only brought him to the Hanged Man to await the arrival of Hawke and Merrill, who were out shopping in Lowtown’s bazaar. Varric did not make a habit of inviting Sebastian to drinks if Hawke was not about. Isabela was always hard to track down, but had a way of popping up in their vicinity quite often.

“Since I’ve had sex!” Varric chuckled, equal parts from Isabela’s whining and the look on Sebastian’s face.

“What, Hawke not giving it up anymore?”

“Did she tell you about that?”

“She may have mentioned it last time she was drunk,” Varric allowed. Regular card nights were always a good time to eat up gossip, and there had been a lot more drinking than card-playing at their last get-together.

“And here I thought it was a secret!” Isabela tossed her thick black mane and grabbed Varric’s pint to have a sip. “That was a one-time deal, anyway. Pure curiosity.”

“Wait—are you—did you _sleep_ with Hawke?” Varric and Isabela both turned to look at Sebastian, whose astounded stare made Varric cackle in delight. Clearly Hawke had not seen fit to share this bit of information!

“Oh dear. I’ve sent you to confession, haven’t I?” Isabela said with a smirk. “Don’t get too excited, it was a while ago. Before you were with us.” Sebastian stared and blinked and seemed to have a million questions on his lips at once.

“_Wh_y?”

“She was curious,” Isabela said with a shrug. “I obliged her.”

“Hawke’s an oddball when it comes to that,” Varric volunteered. “She’s just…not interested. Actually, she’d fit in quite well in the Chantry! Vows of chastity wouldn’t bother her at all!” Isabela shook her head.

“I really thought I’d change her mind,” she said. “How’s that supposed to make me feel about myself, huh? I’ve turned women off their husbands before, but never failed to get them onboard entirely!” Varric threw up his hands.

“As long as she’s happy. One less thing for her to worry about, right?”

“If she was worrying about it more, maybe I wouldn’t have to,” Isabela grumbled, resting her chin in her hand. 

“I’m sorry, you _slept_ with _Hawke_?”

***

“Do you…want us to go? Hawke?” Varric’s uncertain question hung in the air, but Hawke continued on as if nothing had been said. She dropped her blade onto the floor with a terrible clatter, and then stood in the middle of the room like she’d forgotten what she came home for.

“You should take your armor off,” Merrill suggested. Hawke didn’t move.

“Daisy, help her,” Varric muttered. Merrill leaned her staff against the wall and went over to Hawke. She started to unbuckle and unstrap Hawke’s armor, and Hawke stood still and let her do it. Merrill passed the pieces off to Varric, who piled them over by the fireplace. When they were done, Hawke left for the library in silence.

“Shit.” Varric took a seat on a nearby chair and cradled his head in his hands. “_Shit.” _

“I’ve never seen her like this,” Sebastian said softly.

“Do you blame her?” Varric asked. “Andraste’s flaming ass. That was…that was a one-person demonstration of why the Circle exists.”

“We have to do something,” Merrill said, twisting her hands together. Before anyone could offer a suggestion—or more likely, fail to—Gamlen burst through the front door.

“Have you found her?” he asked. “She hasn’t come by the house. Is Felicity here?” Merrill pointed wordlessly towards the library. Gamlen must have taken some hint from the grave looks on their faces, and hurried to the library without another word. The sound of their conversation was low enough not to be heard until “_If you had been faster, stronger--!” _

“Should we leave them?” Merrill whispered.

“No way,” Varric said, shaking his head. “I don’t want to leave Hawke alone here.”

“I don’t either,” Sebastian agreed. “She shouldn’t be alone at a time like this.” The memory of Leandra’s face and the grotesquely mutilated body rose in his memory and he shuddered, swallowing back the urge to retch. The smell of Quentyn’s dungeon lingered in his nose, no matter how many deep breaths of clean air he took. Merrill’s face suggested the same line of thought, and she took a seat in front of the fire, reaching out to hug Butch. The massive hound collapsed into Merrill’s tiny lap.

Gamlen and Hawke did not speak long; he emerged from the library with tears on his face. He flashed some confused, conflicted grimace at Hawke’s friends, and departed. They waited, but Hawke did not appear.

“Perhaps we should get her something to drink,” Merrill said.

“There’s not enough booze in the world for this,” Varric said at the same time Sebastian opined that “Now is not the time for alcohol.”

“No, I mean something warm,” Merrill said. “To calm her down. I think she’s in shock.”

“Oh.” Varric and Merrill found their way into the Amell estate kitchen to hunt for tea or coffee, while Sebastian hung around the entry hall wondering if he ought to go in and say something to Hawke, or if it was better to let her be. The estate had nearly come to feel like an extension of his home in the chantry---he could clearly picture Leandra greeting him there before the fireplace, crying for Hawke to come down and not keep the prince of Starkhaven waiting. So too, he could hear Hawke’s groans and protestations (“Mother, _please_!”) and Leandra’s breathy “You didn’t say you were friends with a _prince_, Felicity! I remember the Vael family!” Vividly he could recall the flush in Hawke’s face as her mother all but openly cajoled her to consider marriage with Sebastian.

“I’m so sorry,” Hawke said every time they managed to escape.

“It’s fine,” Sebastian would chuckle, suppressing his own fluster. “It’s flattering, really.”

“I think she’s terrified I’ll try to marry Merrill or Anders or something,” Hawke had said.

“Will you?”

“No! They’re my friends, I want them to stay that way. But I think Mother would die of happiness to see me wed royalty.” She had shaken her head, rubbing her temples.

“Most mothers would,” Sebastian had said. “Yours wouldn’t be the first to suggest such a thing.”

“Even so. If only Bethany were here, she could be planning _her_ marriage instead!” Hawke did not often speak of her sister, but she always did so with pain in her eyes. Eventually, Sebastian had pressed her on what the story there was, but it hadn’t been that day. He wondered if she was thinking of Bethany now, with Leandra gone.

“Is there anything we can do?” Bohdan broke through Sebastian’s reverie and he cast a startled look down.

“No, I don’t think there’s anything we can do,” he said. “She just needs time to grieve. It may be a long process.” Life seemed determined to keep knocking Hawke down. Was it better or worse, Sebastian wondered, to lose one’s family all at once, or watch them picked off one by one? His family was gone, wiped out, but for the distant cousin now seated on Starkhaven’s throne. Hawke had watched as first her father, then her brother, now her mother, all succumbed to different but equally fatal ends.

“We’ve got something,” Merrill announced as she re-entered the hall, bearing a steaming cup. She returned, bright-eyed with the notion of helping, just as Hawke exited the library and made for the stairs. Merrill held the cup up like an offering. “Do you--?” she said, almost too quietly to be heard. Hawke did not acknowledge the gesture, only disappeared upstairs. Merrill’s shoulders slumped. “I feel so helpless,” she said.

“Sometimes all we can do is let someone know we’re here for them,” Sebastian said, but he understood what Merrill meant. Was there anything worse than watching a loved one suffer and being powerless to stop it? “Here, I’ll take it up to her,” he offered, reaching to take the cup. Varric frowned, but did not protest. However baffled he was by Hawke’s deep affection for Sebastian, he knew there was a chance he would know the right thing to say to her.

“We’ll stay here,” he said. “Yell if you need help.”

“Perhaps we can see if there’s something to eat,” Merrill said, although she didn’t think she’d be able to swallow a bite. Leandra Hawke’s fate was still too near.

Sebastian went up to Hawke’s bedroom, which he had never had cause to linger in before. Too much of the noble was still in him, that it seemed wildly improper to be a lady’s bedroom unaccompanied. Not that he had never done it—but he had reason to want to keep up appearances around Hawke and Leandra.

“Hawke?” He tapped lightly on her open door. She sat on the edge of her bed, staring into the empty fireplace. Sebastian went in, and when she did not protest, he set the cup down on her bedside table, and busied himself starting a fire in the hearth. When that was done, he sat tentatively on the bed beside her, ready to flee should she call out the inappropriateness of his familiarity with her. “Merrill and Varric thought you might want something to drink,” he said, gesturing to the cup. Hawke shook her head.

“Uncle Gamlen was right,” she whispered at last, and Sebastian could hear the tightness in her throat. “If I had only thought more, if I had moved faster, I could have—” She cut off, ducking her head. There was a tremor in her broad shoulders. “What I am _doing_?” she asked in agony before Sebastian could refute the first claim. “I couldn’t save Carver, or Bethany, now Mother…they’re my _family_, I’m supposed to keep them _safe_!” Her voice broke and she looked up at Sebastian with tears shining in her eyes. “What am I _good_ for if I can’t do that? What did we come here for, what did we go into the Deep Roads for, if it’s only cost us everything we wanted to save?”

“Oh, Hawke.” This was a pain he knew too well. Different, but in the same vein, and he wished sorely that he could spare her from it. “It wasn’t your fault. None of it was your fault. You did your best.”

“And it wasn’t enough!” she cried, slamming her fists down against her legs. “So what good am I!” She was breathing rapidly, trying to get a grip, and failing. “How do you _bear_ this?” Her voice dropped into a whisper again, and Sebastian turned his eyes towards the fire.

“With time,” he said. “Think on what your mother said,” he added after a silent pause. “She is—”

“Don’t you _dare_ tell me she’s ‘with the Maker’!” Hawke hunched her shoulders and ground her teeth. “What if you’re wrong? What if there is no Maker? No one waiting for her? What if she’s just _gone_?” Sebastian looked at Hawke’s clenched hands, at the way the wavering firelight flickered across her fair skin.

“Then consider that she would not want you to blame yourself,” he said at last. “She wouldn’t tell you not to be sad, but she would not allow you to take responsibility for a madman’s actions.” Hawke struggled for several moments, and Sebastian dared to reach out, just to place a hand over hers, to give her some small touch so she might know she was not alone. As he reached, she turned abruptly and pressed her face into his shoulder, unable to stop herself breaking down anymore. Shock held him still for several moments as Hawke quickly descended into sobbing, but he pushed past it to put one, then both arms around her. “Felicity,” he said in a low voice, squeezing her. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry you have to feel this. I wish I could take it away.”

“I miss them,” Hawke wept, clutching at Sebastian’s chest with one hand. “I miss them and I don’t know how I’ll live in this stupid house by myself, and—_Why?_ Why? Why?” Hawke went on crying and Sebastian stopped talking. When she finally started to regain control of herself, she stayed as she was for a long moment or two, before finally pulling away from him.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, rubbing at her eyes with the heel of her hand and coughing to clear the phlegm from her throat. “I can’t imagine how this must be for you, you’ve already lost your family…”

“Then I am in a better place to understand where you are,” he said with a pained smile. Hawke shot him a miserable look.

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” she said. She rested her elbows on her knees and stared into the heat of the fire. “I’m just going to have to wait,” she said. “Wait for everything to stop hurting. Like when father died. At least then, it wasn’t…” She swallowed thickly. “It wasn’t…like this.” Malcolm Hawke had never been subjected to the torture that Leandra had gone through, the desecration and indignity. Sebastian wanted to reach out to her again, but he held back. It was one thing for Hawke to cast herself into his arms in a moment of vulnerability, another for him to use the moment to get close to her.

“Have something to drink,” Sebastian encouraged her gently. With a low sigh, Hawke picked the cup up off the table and cradled it between her hands. Sebastian almost spoke again, but decided against it. He almost offered to leave, and rejected this too. It didn’t feel right, not yet. So they sat in silence, watching the logs on the fire blacken and crack, listening to Butch pace up and down the stairs, sensing something amiss in the house. Sebastian considered taking Hawke’s hand, or putting a hand on her shoulder. Butch came into the room and sniffed at Hawke’s knees before settling at their feet before the fire.

“Did they tell you, how it happened?” When Hawke spoke, breaking the long silence, it was so quiet that it took a heartbeat for him to realize she was speaking to him. He turned a questioning look on her. “Your family,” she clarified in a somber tone. “Did they tell you how it happened?”

Sebastian tried to swallow, but his throat dried up. His fingers curled into half-formed fists.

“No,” he said. “They were not so uncouth.”

“Do you wonder?”

“….yes.” How could he tell her? About the long nights, the colorless days, spent wondering if his mother’s throat had been cut, or if the sword had gone through her back? Wondering if his brothers had had time to run, or if they had been so surprised it was over before they realized it? Picturing his father at the foot of the throne, bleeding out while the guards—ran? Fought? Cheered? “I used to wonder all the time. I thought about it constantly.”

“I wonder what’s worse,” Hawke said softly. “To know, or to wonder?” Sebastian stared hard at the bright center of the fire; he could almost feel it curling its flames inside him.

“I don’t know.”

“I keep seeing them die, over and over,” she said. “My father. Carver. Mother. I see Bethany’s face with the Darkspawn taint making her so pale and sick. Hear her asking me if this will save her.”

“If you don’t know, your mind just makes things up,” Sebastian said. “I’ve thought of every possible way for my family to have died, thinking of worse things every time.”

“Maybe they’re the same. Just different types of awful,” said Hawke, turning to look at him.

“I think you’re probably right,” Sebastian said. He lowered his head and rubbed at his forehead with the heels of his hands. “It…does get easier,” he said. “Not _easy_, but…not so raw. Not all the time. But I suppose you already know that.”

“I hope you’re right,” Hawke said suddenly, straightening up more to look at him. “I hope she’s with Carver, and Father, and the Maker who loves her. I hope she’s at peace, and happy.”

“I believe she is,” he said. “And someday you’ll see her again.” Hawke’s lips trembled, and tears welled in her eyes again, but she nodded.

“I really hope so, Sebastian.”

**Author's Note:**

> [On tumblr](https://imakemywings.tumblr.com/post/188328008750/fandom-dragon-age-2-pairing-hawke-x-sebastian)


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